I Need More Than One Blog

I've been bothered by something lately: I'm like any real person - I've got secrets. What's bothering me is that most of those secrets I could share with some people, who could be trusted not to open their big fat mouths because for the most part they don't KNOW the people that I'm keeping secrets from. This goes both ways. There are things that I'd happily tell my mother that I don't want to share with my boss; there's things I'd tell my ex-wife that I don't need rattling around in my geeky-card-game buddies' heads. I've got stuff going on in my life that I'd love to journal about, but I can't, because virtually everyone I know comes here one time or another.

So if my blog sometimes seems flippant and shallow, it's not because I'm flippant and shallow. Okay, I am, but try to remember there's more to me than I'm broadcasting to the Earth.

The World Is Coming To An End

Well, the Flames have been knocked below .500 at home by a team that can't even spell their own name.

Oh yeah, that's right, I went there. The Capitals' logo is - get this - the Capitol building. Logically, therefore, they are the Washington Capitols.

Not Capitals.

Think about that for a minute.

Americans. Bad spellers. Bad hockey players. Beat us. Calgary. 4 - 2.

Unacceptable.

Easy, Pleasy, Japa... oh sorry you're dead.

The new Grudge movie is pretty scary. Lots of creepy gurgling noises and unexplained hair and tiny blue naked Japanese boys who stare at you from out of close spaces for no discernable reason. I know that doesn't actually SOUND scary, but believe me, it is.

Much like its antecedent and the other famous Japanese-import mystery-horror flick, The Ring (and in fact Dark Water, which was not-very-eerily similar to the second Ring), it's tinged faintly blue and populated by inscrutable allusions to Japanese folklore. It is important to remember in these films that mother figures, water, and long hair are all in some way evil.

Anyway, I found the new one passably entertaining, and scary enough in an I'm-still-sort-of-jumpy-because-I'm-alone kind of a way. It continues its prequel's tradition of in violating the "safe" areas of conventional horror movies, this time [HUGE SPOILERS] by turning the Disbelieving Authority Figure into an aspect of the monster and by having the Obscure Expert Who Is Our Only Hope simply declare "No, you can't stop it. You're just doomed. We're all doomed," and then die. [/HUGE SPOILERS] Not quite as scary as the first one, I suppose because it's missing the whole "Wow, even Buffy the Vampire Slayer is afraid of this creepy evil Japanese chick" thing.

I'm noticing also that horror movies have stopped ending on the "well, that's one evil force from beyond the grave that won't menace us any longer" speech followed by the "ooh, it's really going to come back someday, eek" final-scare shot. The new technique is to just kill off the last remaining character in an emotionally unsatisfying manner and then go to black and roll the credits, implying of course that the monster / killer / whatever is just entirely unstoppable and you might as well not even bother.

On Another Note:

If you believe that, should you fail, while thinking, to produce a correct interpretation of the facts, that sometimes the person to whom you express your fallacious interpretation will grant you another "thing," you are gravely mistaken. In fact, you have another think coming, as your first think was sub-par.

I don't care what Google says. I don't care what your aunt Millie says. I don't even care what Lynne Truss says. I don't care what anyone says. And I don't believe - in this case - that if "lots of people say it, it becomes right." "Thing" doesn't make ANY SENSE in context. The expression means that the speaker is giving the hearer another chance to consider their opinion. If somebody says you have another thing coming, well, then, they have another think coming. That's all there is to it.

All In All, A Pleasant Experience

The other night I went straight from work to the Cineplex at Sunridge to watch the Flames play the Habs on 50-foot pay-per-view. It was great. There were about 15 people in the theater all told, and I spent about 45 minutes dancing like a fool in the empty aisle behind my seat to the music on my RCA NotPod, while waiting for the pre-game show to wind down. Franz Ferdinand is pretty awesome.

The Flames were defeated after putting up a reasonably competent and certainly fun-to-watch struggle, and after the game it was away home to answer my emails and phone messages, then off to Classic Jacks for one last beer with the guys who'd been watching the game there. Then off to SimicDude's [not his real name] place to play cards until very very late at night.

Best date I've been on in ages, save for the absence of an actual girl.

Sometimes I Think Strange Thoughts

Sesame Street is supposed to be about teaching children. So why does Cookie Monster use such terrible grammar?

The Rules

Some people have disputed these with me, but I firmly believe that they hold true in all circumstances:

It would be cooler if it had flying boats.

Weasels are funny.

Everyone is prettier when they smile.

This Is Not So Good

My alarm clock just went off.

As in, I have been awake now for 24 solid hours.

I really, really, need to stop doing that.

In other news, if you know where this:

"I am the sun, you are the moon. Wherever you lead I will go,
following across the wide sky, as long as I live and you love.
Sun follows Moon until she tires, then carries her until she's strong
and runs ahead of him again."

is from, then you, like me, are a huge nerd. The rest of the poem is beautiful, but somewhat sad, and I shan't take up space with it here. The diligent can find the full text if they are resourceful.

And now, I must be going before my clock radio shifts to BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP.... hm. Too late.

Stupid Sharks. Stupid Flames. Stupid Hockey.

Grr, argh.

That has to have been the most appalling excuse for a hockey game that I have yet encountered.

At least the Flames seem to have abandoned their center-the-puck-to-a-guy-who's-not-there strategy in favour of never actually centering the puck at all.

I'm not sure if that's better, but it's marginally less humiliating.

Home Opened; Blogger Learns to Use Images

The other night I attended what is colloquially known as the "home opener," that being the inaugural Saddledome game of the regular season, wherein the Flames traditionally demolish their archrivals the Edmonton Losers. Er, Oilers. Sorry, I was temporarily confused there.

All proceeded according to plan, however even I as an outrageously biased partisan must admit that the boys seemed to carry the day mostly by accident. Something really must be done about the apparent overarching Flames strategy, which is as follows:

Upon gaining control of the puck, storm the offensive zone either alone or perhaps with the aid of an unoccupied defenseman, occasionally backed up by a couple of forwards who happen to look up from crushing their opposite numbers into the defensive corners. Retain control by sheer brute force into the offensive corner, scrum behind the net momentarily with whatever courageous defender feels like getting his nose broken at the moment, then centre the puck to ... hm. I would have sworn there was a red jersey in that mess somewhere. Ah well. Chase the puck back down the ice to where Kipper's already doing his job. Rinse, repeat.

Mayhap actually extending this strategy to "holding the zone" and "scoring a damned goal on purpose occasionally" might contribute to a more impressive outing against the Sharks on Monday? No?

Divan's Gone

As if I imagined it.

Just in case anyone was following the epic tale of the things found in my building's ascension mechanisms.

Slowly But Surely

My building continues to approach the ultimate in surreality.

Today's evidence: a divan (I hesitate to call it a couch... couches have TWO arms, right?), on end, pillows piled atop it, on the fourth floor landing. It was there when I went to work and I thought "oh, some new tenants have taken a break from moving in and left their divan here in the stairwell."

No. It was still there when I got back. Someone has ABANDONED a divan in the stairwell. I can't imagine why, especially since the elevator has been working perfectly for weeks.

If I knew of a cheap way to check furniture for hepatitis I'd appropriate it in place of my uncomfortable futon. But then I'd have to pile the pieces of my disassembled futon in the stairwell, and, well, somebody might trip and then I'd feel bad.

Och, no sir.

This evening, walking home from work, I required my jacket. Yes, yes, I know what you're all about to say, "It'll be nice later this week." I fear that is False Comfort. The time of crunchy leaves has arrived, soon to be followed by the time of mooshy leaves that might or might not have dog-doo mixed in, and then the time of wishing I had warmer shoes.

My friends, it is about to become....

chilly.

Take all appropriate steps.